


The Dangling Conversation

by VolatileInk



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Other, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolatileInk/pseuds/VolatileInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game is won, and in an alternate timeline, all Kanaya and Rose want to do is get lost...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangling Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are "The Dangling Conversation" by Simon And Garfunkel. Homestuck and all characters associated with it belong to Andrew Hussie and MsPaintAdventures. All rights reserved.

You close your eyes.

 

The afternoon is warm and lazy, and dappled sunlight, molten gold, streams through the white cotton curtains. The pages crinkle as you turn them softly, and the black words spin and whirl behind your eyes like leaves in the autumn wind. 

 

The crystal windows turn the sunrays into fractured rainbows, sunbeams dancing in the room. The room smells like candle wax and lamplight, like lavender clouds and dark rain.

 

A little black cat blinks and purrs, a circle of warmth on your lap.

 

You close your eyes and your mouth is filled with cinnamon and wildflowers, as you sip your tea and the honey colored liquid splashes down, lighting a flame right behind your ribs that you only feel with her.

 

Shadows dance across pale hands as black lace is broken like the dawn, and the dark brunette smiles at you and her emerald eyes shine like stained glass. You lean your head on the soft cold pillow and return her smile.

 

Her white fingers curl gently around a piece of yarn and tug, the purple dye blossoming on the edges of her fingertips. She laughed, a lilting song, that broke the syrupy warmth like a flash of lighting. You smile and you feel your cheeks ache because it has been so long since you felt this happy.

 

This…alive.

 

You feel alive.

 

The first, hesitant strains of violin music begin and you both glance at the record player as it spins the record that Dave gave you. Her hair bounces as she turns to you excitedly.

 

Because this is your song. You leap up from the soft cushions, and purple balls of yarn fly and land silently in a cloud of dust.

 

Your hands meet. You will never get tired of the way her fingers feel on yours.

 

She smiles at you and together, you spin, sunlight and perfume whirling around the edges of your skirts.

 

_It’s a still life watercolor_

_Of the now-late afternoon_

_As the sun shines through the curtain lace_

_And shadows wash the room._

She lets her head rest on your shoulder and you laugh into her hair as you feel her heart beat like a drum across your skin.

 

_And we sit and drink our coffee_

_Couched in our indifference_

_Like shells across the shore_

_You can hear the ocean roar_

You both begin to sing along with the lyrics under your breath.

 

_In the dangling conversation,_

_And the superficial sighs,_

_The borders of our lives._

_“And you read your Emily Dickinson,”_ you whisper with the music.

 _“And I my Robert Frost,”_ she replies.

 _“And we note our place with book markers,”_ you sing together. _“That measure what we’ve lost.”_

_Like a poem poorly written._

_We are verses out of rhythm,_

_Couplets out of rhyme,_

_In syncopated time._

_And the dangling conversation,_

_And the superficial sighs,_

_Are the borders of our lives._

_“Yes, we speak of things that matter,”_ you continue.

 _“With words that must be said,”_ she murmurs.

 _“Can analysis be worthwhile?”_ you smile softly, looking at her.

 _“Is the theater really dead?”_ she returns your gaze.

_And how the room is softly faded_

_And I only kiss your shadow,_

_Until I feel your hand._

_You’re a stranger now unto me._

You lips meet in a clash of happiness and sorrow, and you can taste it, as the music fades off. Being alive.

Because the sun is warm, and the room is quiet, and you finally finished the unspoken book that you have been trying to write, but never knew you were writing.

And now neither of you have words to say, because you are both lost.

_Lost in the dangling conversation,_

_And the superficial sighs._

_In the borders of our lives._


End file.
